


rent

by neyvenger (jjjat3am)



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Domestic, M/M, Rated for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:11:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6199906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jjjat3am/pseuds/neyvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Carra moves in, it's only supposed to be for a few days until he can return to his own flat and they can both go back to pretending to hate each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rent

**Author's Note:**

  * For [saltstreets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstreets/gifts).



> Sabs my love! This fic is for you and I hope you like it. I love you a lot, I'm so sorry for the wait, I hope it makes up for it. There's a musical reference in here that I'm hoping that you'll get and enjoy.

  
  
  


Gary’s still not quite sure how he got caught up in the whole thing. 

  
  


The only thing he seems to remember is Carragher trudging into the studio, looking the picture of misery (which was immediately strange because it easn’t even after a Livepool match), and explaining, after much prodding, that his apartment in London had been closed due to an awful roach infestation.

  
  


And Gary, instead of saying something sensible like “oh, so your whole family moved in”, found himself offering his spare bedroom instead.

  
  


Which leads him to now, with Carra tugging in a huge suitcase through Gary’s much too narrow doorway and cussing up a storm. Gary’s got half a mind to intervene, because the flat upstairs has small kids, but the buggers have been playing hopscotch for months right above his head so the parents probably deserved it.

  
  


The suitcase comes loose with a pop, causing Carra’s triumphant ‘A-HA!’ to turn into a high screeching sound as he overbalances and clatters into Gary, who’d just been on his way to help him out.

  
  


Gary’s got a second to register Carra’s weight on top of him, the warm skin over firm muscle, before the suitcase falls on top of them.

  
  


The damn thing is probably full of Liverpool kits anyway.

  
  
  


*

  
  


  1. **_Hidden Talents_**



  
  
  


Gary’s not bragging when he says he’s good at a lot of things (football, pundtry, putting things into little boxes, being better than his brother at everything), but cooking has never been and probably won’t ever be a skill of his.

  
  


This is fine. He’s comfortable existing on takeout and the frozen meals his mother still leaves in his freezer once in awhile. 

  
  


Carra seems to think this is atrocious.

  
  


“You can’t make a homecooked meal?” he asks, frowning in a way that makes the wrinkles between his eyes stand out. It’s a very judgemental look and Gary bristles at the sight of it. It’s a Pavlovian thing at this point. “What do you eat?”

  
  


“I can make pasta,” Gary says, in a tone that he hopes implies that this is a huge culinary achievement. “I get by just fine, thanks!”

  
  


He surreptitiously attempts to nudge the bag of Starbursts deeper to the back of the cupboard with his heel.

  
  


“Really? What kind of pasta can you make?” Carra says, crossing his hands over his chest. It makes his biceps bulge out, and wow, no man close to forty has business being this fit in Gary’s opinion.

  
  


“Boiled...pasta,” Gary says slowly, though to be fair he’s a bit busy staring at the vein on Carra’s forearm. That vein has been particularly problematic in the last few weeks since Gary’s first thought about licking it. He takes a deep breath and thinks about what Sir Alex would say.

  
  


That usually helps to center him and kill off the worst of his hard-ons.

  
  


“You can make boiled pasta?” Carra repeats, rolling his eyes. “Practically a masterchef aren’t you?”

  
  


“Yes,” Gary says, frowning, “and I’d like to see you do any better!”

  
  


Carra throws his hands into the air, grabs his jacket and wallet and then disappears for a while, which is just great because Gary has to get some work done and he’s got no time to be distracted by a dirty Scouser questioning his life choices.

  
  


Carra returns a few hours later with his hands full of grocery bags, that he then puts away into various cupboards and shelves with absolutely no regard to Gary’s meticulous filing system. 

  
  


(“Watch where you’re putting that turnip, Carragher!”

  
  


“Is this about your stupid system again? Do you even have a designated turnip spot?”

  
  


“Of course I do!”

  
  


“Have you ever had a turnip in this kitchen, Gary?”

  
  


“Well no, but I put a spot for it in the filling system just in case and STEP AWAY FROM THOSE SPOONS RIGHT NOW!”)

  
  


They get in a scuffle over the eggs and accidentally break one, but thankfully that’s the only casualty. A miracle really, since there are sharp knives located nearby.

  
  


Instead of working, Gary finds himself sitting at the counter with a glass of white wine, observing Carra chopping some onions.

  
  


(“Ha! I knew it, I knew you could cry!”

  
  


“I’m chopping onions, you twat!”

  
  


“I’m taking a picture.”

  
  


“Gary, there’s a knife in my hand and if you get any closer to that goddamned phone I swear to god…”

  
  


“Crybaby!”)

  
  


Gary watches with a feeling of unreality, as Carra puts on pots and pans and fills them with stuff (presumably food, could be poison), wields the spatula like those chefs that Scholesy likes to watch on TV, all the while humming along to the radio.

  
  


The whole thing is oddly domestic.

  
  


(“Is this poisoned?”

  
  


“If I wanted to kill you I would have strangled you already.”)

  
  


It’s a good meal, warming and hearty. It’s got nothing on his mother’s of course. But it’s much better than takeout.

  
  
  


*

  
  


  1. **_Professionals_**



  
  


They watch football together now, sprawled on Gary’s couch in front of his HD TV, each with their own notes in front of them; Gary’s meticulously organized folders and Carra’s dog eared journal, along with their computers.

  
  


They work well together. Usually they compare notes before the show, but now they don’t need to, arguing over details as they watch, almost missing plays with how hard they’re defending their points.

  
  


Neither of them is a silent spectator, which is definitely a distraction, because it’s one thing to laugh at Carra’s wittier oneliners when they’re delivered over text, and another entirely to have to stifle his laughter when he hears them in real life. 

  
  


Sometimes he fails, bursts out laughing, has to look away from the pleased lopsided smile he gets in return.

  
  


(“Is that a smile I see, Neville?”

  
  


“It’s a grimace.”

  
  


“Sure it is. Admit it, I’m funny!”

  
  


“You’re certainly a clown.”)

  
  


Their show the next Monday is one of the best ones yet.

  
  
  
  


*

  
  


**_iii. Hidden Talents pt.2_ **

  
  


The guitar’s been gathering dust in his room. He’s got so much work to do, so many projects and now Carra’s here too, and he’d never admit it, but if he’s home, he prefers to spend time with him instead of mostly anything he could be doing otherwise.

  
  


Which is why he’s entirely forgotten about his guitar, until one day when he comes home and finds it waiting for him in the living room.

  
  


(“Can you play it?”

  
  


“I...yeah, kind of. I haven’t had time to practice a lot recently.”

  
  


“What can you play? Can you do Oasis?”

  
  


“Jamie, I don’t think...I’m out of practice.”

  
  


“Oh, come on, you aren’t embarrassed are you?”

  
  


“No!”

  
  


“Then c’mon! Play for me!”)

  
  


So Gary takes off his suit and tie, and loosens his shirt cuffs, then sits down to play. He does a bit of ‘Wonderwall’ and looks up, expecting a joke or an insult or something to get them back on equal footing, but all he gets is Carra with a really intense expression on his face, and has to look away because his face feels hot.

  
  


(“Do you know any more?”)

  
  


He plays a bit more of Oasis, catches Carra swaying along and switches to the Stone Roses, then to a bit of Springsteen and even a cheeky bit of ABBA. He pretends he doesn’t hear Carra singing along softly under his breath.

  
  


He plays until his fingers are numb.

  
  


The next day he keeps getting distracted by remembering the look on Carra’s face, enraptured and completely focused on Gary.

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


  1. **_Chores_**



  
  


Gary loves doing laundry.

  
  


He loves taking the clothes still warm from the dryer, letting the calming scent of detergent fill the room, and then gently pressing the clothes into perfect squares of fabric and stacking them up to fit into his drawers and shelves. There’s something so relaxing about it, about how it all fits in together, how it empties his mind of all distracting thoughts and feelings.

  
  


That is, until he comes across the first shirt he doesn’t recognize.

  
  


It’s a non-descript T-shirt, black faded to grey with too many washings, and Gary would have calmly folded it among his own if it hadn’t had a promotional logo for Liverpool on the front. He folds it, feeling oddly at the break of routine.

  
  


There’s a number of T-shirts and a even some dress shirts he remembers sitting across from in the studio. He sets those aside to iron along with his own. There’s several pairs of briefs that most definitely don’t belong to him and he folds them quickly, cheeks burning, while scolding himself quietly.

  
  


The socks turn out to be a problem. They’re black and nondescript and entirely indistinguishable from his own, except for one pair, which is bright red and has the Liverbird emblazoned on the sides. He leaves those lying on top of the washer, and after a brief moment of consideration, drops one behind the drying machine.

  
  


(“Oh, did you fold my clothes too? Thanks, Gary, you’re a real pal, I hate doing laundry.”

  
  


“Yeah, well, you make me dinner all the time, I thought it was only fair.”

  
  


“Did you happen to know where the other one of this pair of socks is?”

  
  


“I’m just going to pretend I never saw them and have no idea.”

  
  


“But the briefs with the crest in front don’t bother you at all?”

 

“Well, I always said you lot were bollocks.”)

  
  


Everytime he passes too close to Carra now, in the studio or at home, he catches a whiff of his preferred detergent. He’s not sure he likes it. Or rather he’s not sure he likes how much he likes it.

  
  
  


*

  
  


  1. **_Feelings and Other_**



  
  


Now, under duress, Gary would be willing to admit he’s a little bit out of touch with his feelings. 

  
  


Still, even a blind hen finds the grain if it tries hard enough.

  
  


He gets home one evening and it’s late, way past his bedtime, and he sways a bit on his feet, his eyes itchy and swollen. The flight was long and the day filled with one trying thing after another, and all he wants to do right now is faceplant into his bed and not move for a few hours.

  
  


The light in the kitchen is on. That’s the first thing he notices.

  
  


The second is Carra, wrapped up in a blanket on the couch, the highlights of a match playing on low behind him.

  
  


(“Wow, you look like shit. Negotiations didn’t go well? There’s some leftovers in the oven, if you’re hungry.”

  
  


“We closed the deal on the new hotel. Jamie…”

  
  


“Oh, congratulations, mate! Will you put your name on it? A big neon Neville in the middle of the Manchester skyline?”

  
  


“Jamie...did you stay up waiting?”

  
  


“I...well, I was watching a game anyway, so it wasn’t like I was waiting long.”

  
  


“You stayed up waiting for me.”

  
  


“I...yes.”

  
  


“Oh.”

  
  


“Do you want those leftovers?”

  
  


“Yes. Can I kiss you?”

  
  


“...you’re practically sleeping on your feet, you’ll fall asleep midway through.”

  
  


“Jamie.”

  
  


“Yes. I thought you’d never ask.”)

  
  


He doesn’t fall asleep midway through, but it’s a near thing. He skips the leftovers after all and goes directly to bed, dimly aware of gentle hands stripping of his shirt and trousers, and helping him put on his pajamas. 

  
  


A gentle hand smoothing down his hair and a kiss pressed to his cheek.

  
  
  


*

  
  
  


He does get a proper snog the next morning though.

  
  


(“How long till your apartment is cleared of the bugs?”

  
  


“A month ago.”

  
  


“...it was cleared a month ago?!”

  
  


“Yep.”

  
  


“But don’t you want to go back?”

  
  


“I don’t like doing laundry.”

  
  


“Is that all?”

  
  


“I like making you dinner. I like watching matches with you. I like it when you play guitar. I like kissing you.”

  
  


“Oh. Okay.”

  
  


“Okay?”

  
  


“Yeah. You can keep your key. Now let’s talk about your rent.”

  
  


“Of course I’ll pay you-”

  
  


“One thousand kisses.”

  
  


“What?”

  
  


“Just pay me back with one thousand kisses.”

  
  


“That much, huh? That’ll take a while.”

  
  


“No time like the present to get started.”)

  
  


Carra sells his apartment a month later and officially moves in. 

  
  


They’ve stopped counting kisses.

  
  


 

**Author's Note:**

> ~ how we gonna pay, oh, how we gonna pay, this year's rent? ~

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [房租（Rent）](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6361027) by [natalia_lip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalia_lip/pseuds/natalia_lip)




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